Road To Love

my sanity and salvation from the grief over Karen's death. I felt driven, not by haste, but by careful thoroughness to

sterile work area in one bay of the garage where I lovingly disassembled the

and I also discovered a market for used Harley parts in the area. I spent over $5,000 at a mechanic's shop that specialized i

tand, the engine ran better than new when I finished. Day by day, a new motorcycle emerged from the mass of parts carefully laid out on the floor and workbench. The frame, fenders, and gas tank received new high gloss paint and pin striping. A new instrument clu

t the key in the ignition, and cranked the engine. The motor caught on the second crank as the new gas finally reached the carburetor, and the Harley rumbled into life after its fifteen-yea

ing at a party, our on and off again dating, the first time we made love, becoming engaged, and marrying. We'd lived together for seven of the eight years we knew each other, and learned

around the bedroom. None of our arguments were relationship threatening. We tried to never go to bed mad at each

came back with a vengeance. Karen awoke one morning and went to get out of bed. She felt weak, couldn't stand, and fell back on the bed with a confused look on her face. One hour later after an ambulance ride, the doctors at Mass Gene

wn age pulled me aside and had an earth-shattering talk with me. He started, "We're out of options and treatments. All we can do now is palliative care. Lacking a miracle that

a fit of anger I insisted on other opinions, yet all they did were validate the inevitable – she wouldn't last past mid-February. I co

ing Karen's hand. Towards the end, Lauren joined me in being with her sister around the clock. We learned a lot about each other during those trying days

ecover, but then seemed resigned to her fate. We had a teary goodbye, and she had me make some promises – how I should remember her, how I should keep in touch with her parents and e